


who will you love?

by n_kei



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Ambiguity, M/M, Modeling, Photography
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-02-07 10:43:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12839493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/n_kei/pseuds/n_kei
Summary: There isn’t always a reason for not wanting to be with someone forever.•••A three part series inspired by Try Again by d.ear and Jaehyun, and its darker, melancholic version, If It’s Not Me (Who Will You Love) by The Black Skirts.





	1. i. who will you love

“Let’s try again.”

Yoonoh feels the words, feather-light, brush gently along the stretch of skin between his shoulder and neck, and shivers. He pulls the blankets a little higher, just under his chin, and lets out a soft sigh.

“You should know better than to say that.” He whispers, turning around slowly to meet the content, tired eyes of Youngho. The light from the crescent moon casts delicate spidery shadows on Yoonoh’s cheeks, eyes half-lidded and hidden in shadow. Still guarded. Still doubtful. Youngho smiles in exhale, like he doesn’t mean it, and pulls Yoonoh closer, then closer still. Their eyes seek each other in the dark, wordless. It’s late; and after all that’s said and done, only silence hangs about them like a heavy blanket of snow.

Youngho’s hand presses a warm, heavy line from Yoonoh’s hips up to his arm, then down to a thin wrist. His larger hand engulfs the slender one, and his lips quirk into a small smile. “It didn’t used to be like this.” He speaks softly.

Yoonoh watches him. His eyes are drawn to the smooth, upturned lips, then back to his eyes. The windows to the soul never looked so melancholic. “It didn’t used to be like a lot of things.” He replies, just as quietly.

Youngho studies their hands for a moment, a thumb tracing circles around his sensitive wrist, lost in thought. Yoonoh bites his lip. The gesture is familiar and intimate. Distracting.

“Why not?”

“Hm?”

He meets Youngho’s gaze for a moment, then looks away.

“Because.” Yoonoh says.

Youngho lets out a quiet chuckle, eyes crinkling in the corners. “That’s not an answer.” He says easily, like he’s been repeating this for years. And he has.

Yoonoh rolls his eyes and sets Youngho with a stare, eyebrows drawn slightly, forehead wrinkling. A hand pushes his bangs back, then brushes a thumb gently up the middle, pulling towards the temple. The frown relaxes, and Yoonoh closes his eyes. “Why?”

“It’s serendipity.” Youngho answers simply.

Yoonoh’s eyes open and meets Youngho’s playful gaze. “That’s bullshit.”

“You just don’t see it.” Youngho explains, his thumb trails back to tracing idle shapes on Yoonoh’s wrist.

“Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t see it.” Yoonoh replies, breaking the gaze to look at their hands.

Youngho watches Yoonoh for a moment, before rolling onto his back, one arm behind his head, the other still under Yoonoh’s neck, like a pillow. The movement pulls cool air to the empty space between them. Youngho’s fingertips play with the soft tendrils on Yoonoh’s neck, before delving closer to massage the slender neck. Yoonoh lets out a low, satisfied rumble, the movement moving him closer to Youngho’s side, warm and safe.

“Stay the night?” Youngho asks quietly.

The rest of the room is still, save from the gentle circles being rubbed into Yoonoh’s neck, and the subtle rise and fall of Youngho’s chest. Yoonoh stares at this for a moment, eyelids at half mast, but already threatening to dip lower.

“I shouldn’t.” He whispers back.

The silence that follows is a little bruising, but neither are strangers to it, not at this point. Youngho exhales with effort and makes a movement to sit up. Yoonoh sits up slightly so he can pull his arm from underneath. “Bathroom. Be right back.”

Yoonoh nods wordlessly as his eyes follow Youngho’s tall form through the small but clean hotel room, and into the bathroom. The lights are harsh in the dark, and the door shuts softly, firmly. He closes his eyes and slumps back onto the bed, to the rapidly cooling covers, and inhales deeply. It’s not the first time what he says is ignored, either.

When Youngho comes out again, Yoonoh is dressed and typing something on his cell phone.

“It’s almost 3 in the morning.” He says, irritation creeping into his tired voice.

“Work.” Yoonoh says. When he finishes typing, he looks up and sees Youngho leveling him with a heavy gaze. “I have a photoshoot in a couple hours.”

The frown between Youngho’s brows deepen further. He strides purposefully towards the bed, and stops when he can see Yoonoh’s eyes clearly again. “I can drive you in the morning.”

Yoonoh purses his lips slightly, then shakes his head with a small smile. “Youngho. I already told you. I can’t stay.”

Youngho looks down at the carpeted floor, then up again at Yoonoh. The earlier burst of emotions is carefully hidden again. He nods once, and moves to sit beside Yoonoh on the bed. His hands instinctively reach for Yoonoh’s, accessorized with thin, golden bands, and cradles it between his own. “Do you want me to get you an Uber?”

Yoonoh shakes his head again, but makes no move to pull his hands away. “I’ve already got one.”

The corners of Youngho’s lips pull down, his head dips slightly, and he closes his eyes. _Let me do something for you,_ was left unsaid, because he knew it would only fall on deaf ears.

Yoonoh takes a moment to study his face again, drawing familiar lines with his eyes, from the natural curve of Youngho’s lips to the sharp tilted nose, full brows, and the rings of dark circles. When Youngho opens his eyes, he finds himself sinking into pools of dark brown, molten liquid and, like moth to flames, he draws closer. Yoonoh notices the familiar look of longing and quickly pulls his hands back to tuck them into his jacket pocket.

“I should go.”


	2. ii. when we feel tipsy (let’s walk)

The next time they meet is a few weeks later halfway across the world in Seoul, at a photoshoot.

Yoonoh is a fresh blood model, having been discovered only a year ago in Manhattan and months later, opening shows like IISE, juun.j, and Balenciaga. He's an instant hit to the masses, especially in Asia, but then again, it’s not hard to craft the fan-oriented profile: the Valentine's day boy with a body of a dancer, voice like velvet smooth scotch, and the infamous dimpled smile that makes everyone and their mothers swoon. His stage name? Jeong Jaehyun.

Currently, a stylist is helping Yoonoh with some kind of neo-technical strappy hanbok that refuses to stay on. His model smile slips with each passing second when the assistant just can’t seem to get it right. It’s almost fifteen minutes of the same damn struggle when Youngho steps into the change room.

They share a similar expression of shock, but Youngho recovers faster, looks him up and down, and says with a wry grin, “I’m not saying it’s a sign, but your clothes fall apart the moment I walk in.”

The stylist coughs to hide a laugh while Yoonoh rolls his eyes and gestures her away, now visibly annoyed. “You should be so lucky. What are you doing here?”

The creative director, Sonhee, chooses this moment to burst into the room. She’s a thin, silver haired, hawk-eyed woman with an intimidating presence- all 5 feet of her. A coffee-wired assistant flits by her side, balancing two cups of coffee and stacks of papers in her arms. She peeks over the small stature of the creative director, even though she’s a good six inches taller, and calls out, “Jaehyun-ssi?”

Sonhee scans Youngho up and down with an objective, calculative gaze. “You! Who are you? Are you with an agency? I can match their terms and guarantee ten photoshoots in the next season. Haeun here can draft something up.” Immediately, the assistant, Haeun, nods feverently and sloshes the coffee while scrambling to pull the tablet out from her tote bag.

Youngho quickly raises his arms up, which is kind of difficult since he's also holding onto some heavy camera equipment. “Whoa, calm down. I’m the photographer you called in this morning. I think I spoke with your assistant or something?...”

Sonhee narrows her eyes in suspicion while the squirrelly assistant finally connects the dots, evidently not even coffee could save her neurons from sleeping in this morning. “Oh yes, Youngho-ssi, right? We were waiting for you! The set is almost ready, we’re just here to check up on Jaehyun-ssi-” and the rest of her sentence trails off when all three simultaneously turn to look at Yoonoh, whose hand is still trying to hold his pants up by the crotch, random fabrics draping across his chest in a strange bow.

“It’s not staying on too well, is it?” Sonhee comments dryly, a thin silvery eyebrow arching up.

Yoonoh gives a sheepish smile, apologetic and utterly fake, and shakes his head once. “Don’t worry, I’ll figure it out.” Then he hurriedly shuffles into the back of the room where the dressing curtains and racks of outfits are, and out of earshot.

Youngho chuckles softly at Yoonoh’s retreating back. “Must be a joy to work with this one.”

Sonhee turns to Youngho as the other eyebrow goes up. “You know each other?”

Youngho nods as the corner of his mouth quirks up. “Sort of. We were acquainted in college.”

“Hm. And how did Haeun know to find you?”

Not expecting the interrogation, Youngho took his time to respond, “Your photographer had food poisoning, he’s a friend of mine and recommended me for the job. I’ve sent my portfolio and CV and everything. Ask your assistant.”

“I see.” Sonhee narrows her eyes momentarily, then comes to a conclusion with a definitive nod. “Well, we’ll call you when we have everything set up.” With that, she turns on her heels and clicks out, Haeun hurries out behind her.

Youngho shakes his head, bemused, before turning around and seeing a fuming Yoonoh on the other side of the room, peeking from behind the dress curtains.

“Are you stalking me? I thought you only knew how to take pictures of three toed sloths mating in the middle of the Amazon.” He mutters, all friendly pretense gone.

For the second time that day, Youngho raises his hands in mock surrender, smirking at Yoonoh teasingly. “Chill. I literally just explained to your creative director that I was called in this morning. The original photographer got sick; he's a buddy of mine and told me to take this job.” His smirk widens. “And just to be clear, I was on the  _south_  end of the country before I got called in- I drove for  _four hours_. I didn’t even know you’d be here.”

Yoonoh stares at Youngho suspiciously, but he rolls his eyes in dismissal and turns away to fix his top, brows contorting into a focused scowl. Youngho watches the scene unfold with barely suppressed amusement.

“And I resent that. Just because I'm predominantly a nature photographer doesn't mean I don't know how studio photography works. In fact, this is probably something you can attest to.” Youngho smirks, a twinkle in his eyes.

“Sure.” Yoonoh says tersely. He's trying to figure out the inner and outer layers the ribbons all tied up in a knot and cursing inwardly at whoever designed this mess.

“Seeing as how your first model profile shots are the ones I took, y’know.”

The scowl on Yoonoh’s face deepens, but he continues to work on his clothes and steadfastly ignoring Youngho, whose smile widens.

“Need a hand with that?”

“N- what are you doing.” He growls and flinches away from Youngho’s hands. “I got this-”

Youngho stops inches away from Yoonoh, hands deftly untying and organizing the pieces of fabrics, then nudging Yoonoh’s arms up to pull them on. Yoonoh, for the most part, stops struggling and grudgingly complies while watching Youngho from the stretch of mirrors.

In moments, the top looks to be properly pieced together, knots and bows in place, so Youngho directs his attention lower… Yoonoh follows his gaze and blushes a soft pink, already ducking away. “Uh thanks. I can handle it from here-”

Youngho meets his gaze in the mirror, eyes playful and something a little less innocent; a look Yoonoh is all too familiar with. At the same time, a big hand on his hip pulls him close to the taller man. “The cuffs need to be tied and tucked in a specific way. I can help you.” Youngho whispers, all dark and heedy, and Yoonoh doesn't need to deal with this right now, especially right before a shoot.

“It's fine, really-”

“Please, I insist.” Youngho says teasingly, the hand on his hip pulls him closer, holding him there while the other presses a warm line just above his abdomen. Yoonoh hisses quietly, gripping onto the side of the make up table and meets Youngho’s heated gaze in the mirror, and that's what nails the coffin shut. Yoonoh can't look away.

He bites his lip and nods imperceptibly, the sign he always gives Youngho, whose smirk widens, just as his hand dips lower, pulling the pants away from Yoonoh before he leaves a trail of wetness there...

“You better hope there are no hidden cameras in here.” Yoonoh sneers, which would sound convincing if he wasn't also leaning against Youngho for support.

“That would be even better, because then everyone would know that you're mine.” Youngho growls into his ear, and pulls a lobe between his lips and nips and licks. Yoonoh moans in response.

“Is this what you do with all of your subjects?” Yoonoh says, breathlessly tilting his neck away.

Youngho chuckles against the exposed pale neck, peppering soft kisses down to where the low neckline reaches, before coming up again. Yoonoh shivers. “Only you, and you're much more than that. Now hush.”

Youngho flips Yoonoh over quickly, and falls to his knees.

•••

Haeun is scurrying to the change room when she hears this:

“O-oh fuck. I'm coming-!”

“Don't worry Jaehyun-ssi! Take your time! The set is done, but there's a couple more minutes before the shoot, so you can join us when you're ready!” She chirps through the door, and bumbles her way back on set, exclaiming with a smitten voice about how professional Jaehyun-ssi is.

On the other side of the door,  _Jaehyun-ssi_  is propped up halfway on the make up table, hips at an awkward angle and knuckles white from gripping the table so hard. If his fingers were to so much as card through Youngho’s hair and  _one piece_  lays astray, Sonhee would notice right away. But then again, the redness of Youngho’s lips would already be enough to tip off the hawk-eyed creative director.

“I'm pretty sure the assistant is on some hard drugs.” Youngho comments after a moment, voice a little raspy, and wiping his mouth discreetly with a tissue as he stands from between the V of Yoonoh’s legs, who is still recovering. Youngho takes the opportunity to drink in the sight before him, one he'll probably never tire of.

Yoonoh’s face is flushed, eyes displaying a cocktail of emotions, it makes him look human, tangible; it's a look that he wants to see more of, Youngho decides.

Then he meets Youngho’s eyes, and the accusing glare comes back full force. He decides he likes that too.

“Coming from the person who had the bright idea to give someone a blow job before a photoshoot? How’s that for professionalism.” Yoonoh says, voice low and threatening.

“You weren’t complaining.” Youngho shoots back without missing a beat. “Also, no one came in, so calm down about your professional track record- you’re good.” Youngho says, apologetic save for the smirk stretching across his face. Yoonoh looks like he's deciding the most painful way to wipe it off.

“C’mon. My offer still stands- let me.” Youngho says, gesturing to the crumpled fabric by Jaehyun’s feet.

“Because you were such great help the last time.” He growls, punctuation each word with aggression. He runs a hand through his hair and makes a move to look for his pants.

Youngho’s smirk widens and tosses the glossy, heavily embroidered material at him. “You've always had a backwards way of showing your gratitude. You're welcome.”

Yoonoh catches it in one hand and eyes at Youngho a moment longer, who cocks an eyebrow. Yoonoh doesn't say anything, but he's sure Youngho already knows where this is going, if his growing smirk is anything to go by.

“Pull it on. I'll do the rest.” Youngho waves his hand and turns over, a belated action to respect Yoonoh’s image,  _like he didn't just push him against the table and suck him off_.

In two more minutes, a well-put-together Jaehyun steps out from the waiting room, all dimpled smiles and polite bows. When Youngho steps out of the room, he meets the knowing gaze of Sonhee, and ducks his head before jogging to cameras.

The first part of the shoot goes by smoothly, or as smoothly as ex-casual-sex-buddies working in the same space pretending to not know each other does.

Yoonoh as Jaehyun is all of the mystery-polite wrapped in an endearing, handsome package. His poses are natural, his motions and gestures precise and strong and seemingly effortless, and Youngho admires all of this behind his lens. Sometimes, though, there’s a slight change in demeanour; like how his face would slip into a hint of a scowl when Youngho so much as give directions and suggestions on how he should move. It’s not that Youngho likes to direct, in fact, he hardly ever does since his subjects are mostly wildlife, but he does like to piss Yoonoh off. And there’s no safer place than to do it in public, where a murder will surely not go unreported.

In any case, the art and creative directors haven’t made any comments on the accidental slip of a scowl here, a glare there, so Youngho assumes it’s okay to continue. In fact, the studio has gone kind of quiet…

The team takes a quick break when Yoonoh asks to review the pictures, and Youngho moves away to the corner of the set. It’s one thing to sneak blow jobs before work shifts, and another thing entirely to be overly familiar with a supposed acquaintance whose face dominates every pedestrian crossing in the city.

Also, the room immediately bursts into a low rumble, which is just plain confusing. Some of the staff shoot him looks of wonder, while a lighting assistant seems a little faint. Which, what?

Suddenly, Sonhee pulls him aside and asks with a hushed voice, “How do you do that?”

Youngho blinks. “Do...what exactly?”

Sonhee rolls her big eyes like he’s daft. “Normally, he’s the happy, smiley boy that melts hearts, but today his eyes are full of passion…anger, he’s probably knocked up everyone in this studio-”

Youngho coughs discreetly and pulls a stack of paper- the concept boards- up to his attention. It’s no wonder why he chose nature photography over this, the industry’s filled with eyebrow-raising characters. He sidesteps the question. “Uh, no idea? So, according to the concept board, he's supposed to be… a Neo Culture... Technology Ambassador… what is that supposed to be exactly?”

Sonhee narrows her eyes and shoots Youngho a well-intended, measured look. When the other doesn’t flinch, she snorts and waves a dismissive hand. “Just some concept by the advertisement company.”

Youngho raises a brow. “Oh? And what exactly does it advertise?”

Sonhee sets him with a stare. “Honey butter chips.” She says, like it isn’t the most obvious answer.

Youngho snorts and has to stop the urge to roll his eyes. “Of course, a Neo Culture Technological Ambassador championing for honey butter chips. How did I not see that?”

And that concludes their short break.

Yoonoh goes back onto the set, this time holding onto a bag of the snack, and Youngho wisely decides against anymore questions, in fear that it might actually affect his work, or worse, what he thinks of Yoonoh. But then again, Yoonoh probably took this job because of the chips. He glances at Jaehyun, who is happily nibbling on the snack, dimpled smile firmly in place, a sneak of tongue licking the bottom of his lip and catching the salt there. Not a fake smile in sight.

Yep, definitely the latter.

Youngho does his best to give directions and prompts to get a rise out of Yoonoh, but Yoonoh’s good mood doesn’t budge, and in another hour, they wrap up. The art directors and Sonhee are looking at the proofs with nods of approval, and Youngho hovers in the back to listen to their input, but not really paying attention.

If he’s honest, there’s only one person he wants to talk to right now, and that man is pretending very hard that he doesn’t exist. In fact, he’s all but disappeared from the set with the same pleasant smile, thanking the staff as he goes. Well, all but one, if he’s honest.

That’s why when Yoonoh emerges from the dressing room with normal clothes on, Youngho freezes. He’s almost forgotten how good Yoonoh looks. Wearing black skinny jeans, white vans, and a crew neck striped top, topped with a long grey cable knit cardigan, sleeves so long they cover most of his hands, Yoonoh is every bit the model in front and off camera.

Youngho squints at the sweater… Except Yoonoh doesn't seem like he's going to stay, he's already walking swiftly towards the exit after a few more polite bows. Youngho has seconds to decide if he should run after Yoonoh. And maybe if Yoonoh turned back, he would’ve seen- he may have waited.

But the door closes behind him, the echo resounding.

 _Ah- well_... Shaking his head, Youngho continues the conversation with the Sonhee, trying to politely tell her that  _No, he’s not going to give up photography to be a model_ , only to find that she’s shooting him a strange, thoughtful look.

“We’ll wrap up here. Take some time to consider it. But don't think too long, you’re not young forever.” She says finally, and dismisses him.

An exit.

Not needing to be told twice, Youngho quickly picks up his gear and hurries out the door.

He looks around urgently, hoping to catch a sleeve of the grey sweater. It's late afternoon and the sun shines rays of coral and orange light on every surface. The freshly fallen snow covers everything in a thin coat of white. Youngho’s breath comes out in white puffs.

His freezes when he spots a familiar figure leaning against the wall on the far end of the lot, hidden in the shadows and wearing a thoughtful expression.

Youngho feels his cheeks heat up, self conscious; his thoughts are probably written across his forehead. But for some reason, a sense of urgency unravels his nerves, so he takes long, purposeful strides across the parking lot to meet Yoonoh unimpressed, half-lidded eyes. Youngho eyes surprisingly at the cigarette between the slender fingers, and looks back at the cold, chocolate eyes.

“Since when did you smoke?”

Yoonoh flicks some of the ashes off the butt and shrugs. “Since when was this your business?”

Youngho frowns. “It's not a very healthy habit.” He meets Yoonoh’s gaze again, only to see that it has closed off even more. Damnit. “Listen, can we talk?”

“It depends on what you have to say. Because apparently, talk is cheap when professionalism is involved.” Yoonoh narrows his eyes, taking a slow drag. His lips pull into a neutral line, eyes cooly calculative.

Youngho moves in, arms itching to hold the other, but stops when Yoonoh’s body stiffens. His hands fall back to his sides. “I'm sorry, I really am. Let me make it up to you.”

Yoonoh eyes Youngho a moment longer, then nods, crushing the butt with his shoes. “Drinks on you. Somewhere lowkey.”

Youngho nods. “I know a place. It’s by my hotel.”

Together, the two of them shuffle into Youngho’s rented car. A short while later, Yoonoh finds himself in front of a large slab of metal-door-thing, watching Youngho tug at the small handle that one would notice only if they knew what they were looking for.

Putting aside his irritation, Yoonoh asks, “What is this place?”

Youngho doesn’t answer. He does, however, pull back the curtains to reveal a low-key bar lit in red and cyan lights, the ground covered in a layer of smoke.

“A bar called the Seventh Sense. I know the owner, he’s a friend of a friend.”

Yoonoh rolls his eyes, making an off-handed comment about how what Youngho does to know all of the cool hip places in every part of the world. It sounds more like an insult than a compliment, but Youngho chuckles all the same, saying that all it takes is being friendly, and walks to the bar.

They order their drinks, starting a tab on Youngho’s card, and move to a small booth in the corner. Youngho drinks a healthy swath of his old fashioned and makes an appreciative noise, while Yoonoh sips on his gin gimlet.

“Come to Korea often?” Youngho asks.

“It’s my second time. My first time was for another shoot.”

Youngho shoots him a look, and takes a meaningful sip. “So… this modelling thing really took off, huh?”

Yoonoh rests an arm on the table and looks away, firmly ignoring the other man when he says, “It’s something I am good at.”

“I know.” Youngho says with a slight smile.

And of course he did, he’d all but paved the road for Yoonoh. They met in university, when Youngho boldly approached Yoonoh who, at the time, was the rumoured most handsome boy on campus, and asked him to pose for a picture for his thesis that ended up winning a prestigious photography contest, gaining acknowledgment and work contracts that would eventually pull him out of the country.

Youngho hasn’t stopped travelling since. And Yoonoh, well, he was left on his own to fend for himself from rabid fans.

As payment, Yoonoh coerced a rather willing Youngho back to Manhattan to take his professional headshots, sent them to various modelling agencies, and his career took off as well. It’s been a year, and they’ve been meeting up in the strangest circumstances, with some chatting, more snide insults, and even more boning. But it isn’t surprising, since neither are really known for their chattiness.

Which explains why they’re already on the second round of drinks within five minutes of ordering the first. Small talk isn’t enough to buffer the tension between them. The mood of the bar doesn’t provide much for angry yelling and dramatics. Being the tanks they are, they’d need way more drinks before reaching that point of out-of-controlness.

Suddenly realizing that he’s only had a few nibble of the honey butter chips, Youngho decides to slow down a bit. Yoonoh sees this, and tips the second drink down, as though to one-up the other.

Youngho snorts.

“Modelling- how’s that going for you?” Youngho asks.

“It goes.” Yoonoh says vaguely.

If the look in his eyes is anything to go by, he’s not really interested in conversation, which doesn’t sit well with Youngho. “So...” Youngho starts, trying again.

Yoonoh takes a long sip of the water. “Yeah?”

Youngho pauses, thinking of a way to lead the conversation, but Yoonoh intercepts. “How’s nature photography going for you?”

Youngho pauses, thinking. Then he shrugs, a fond smile tugging at his lips. “It goes. It’s exciting, challenging. I’m learning a lot and experiencing so many different things living in the bush. Almost fell into a 50 metre waterfall once, and maybe some other things. But, all in all, not bad.”

Yoonoh raises an eyebrow, then shakes his head and mutters about crazy photographers. Youngho lets out a bark of laughter. “Takes one to know one. I bet you’ve done some crazy things as a model too.”

Yoonoh raises an eyebrow and scoffs. “I really haven’t.”

“Yeah? Ten bucks say you have.” Youngho smirks challengingly.

Yoonoh rolls his eyes, but plays along. “Based on what standards?”

“Crazy standards. Pull up your agency portfolio. Take a shot for each crazy concept you’ve done.”

Yoonoh scowls, but he plays along. “Then you too. Pull up every editorial you’ve been hired to do and give me a detailed recount of what happened. Shot for every event that can be considered as crazy.”

“Deal.”

“Deal.”

And so, it is really not all that surprising when the two emerge from the bar, high on fumes and drunk as shit, and stumble into Youngho’s hotel room. Thankfully the hotel doesn’t seem to be busy, because they made quite a scene, from ravaging each other’s mouths in the elevator to barely make it to the room before their clothes lay in scattered pieces on the ground.

Youngho tugs Yoonoh’s head to his nape and buries his nose in the hollow of Yoonoh’s neck.

“No marks.” Yoonoh warns breathlessly. His fingers carding through Youngho’s thick locks, holding him there.

Youngho smirks into the soft skin. “Never, my dear.”

•••

It is therefore, to no one’s surprise, when Yoonoh wakes up the next morning to see the room empty, like Youngho’s run for the hills. Because on his chest, right above his heart, is the unmistakable mark of a fresh hickey.

When he sees the note on the bedside table, a hastily scrawled, _Let's try again. Call me._ he angrily throws the note, phone number and all, into the toilet and flushes it down with burning flames in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this 90% written, in my vault, and decided to finish it today. It's hard to not post something after seeing them link hands and dart across the broadcast station foyer ;)
> 
> Tread softly,  
> K


End file.
